


A Bad Day

by Sinclaironfire



Category: Batman - Fandom
Genre: A Normal Day Goes Wrong, Alfred Nearly Dies, Alfred Suffers, Alfred has a Bad Day, Alfred needs a hug, BAMF Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne Feels, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce loves Alfred, Emotional Baggage, Father-Son Relationship, Gotham City - Freeform, Gotham is a violent place, No proofreading! We die like men, Protective Bruce Wayne, Things go from bad to worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-08-13 22:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16481165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinclaironfire/pseuds/Sinclaironfire
Summary: A normal day for Alfred goes horribly wrong. Bruce ponders life, death, and how much he cares for the man who raised him.





	1. A Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I've been playing with for a while. Nothing fancy or spectacular.

It hadn’t started out as a good day. It really hadn’t. A massive storm came through Gotham. The hail alone damaged several windows. To make matters worse, the slightly leaning chimney, the one that Bruce swore up and down that wouldn’t fall, fell during the night and landed straight into the greenhouse killing all of his newly budding roses.

Suffice to say, Alfred was in a bit of a mood that morning.

No sooner had he awoken from a simply dreadful night’s sleep and surveyed the damage from the storm from his bedroom did it set in for him that today was going to be an awful day. But awful or not, he was called to duty and would attend to his duties with the grace and dignity that he always carried.

But dignity didn’t mean shit when every decent glazier was booked solid. Wayne Manor wasn’t the only casualty from last night’s storm. The entire city suffered from the hail which meant that help was going to come in order of who called first and had the most damage, not who had the most money. With only three broken windows and a greenhouse, Wayne Manor was on the low list.

“Do you have anyone available?” asked Alfred wearily on what had to have been his 15th phone call for the day. “Anyone at all?”

“Look, grandpa, I’m gonna tell you what I told the last three people, we don’t have anyone. Now, did you hear that or do you need to adjust the volume on your hearing aid?”

Ah, a little bit of ageism to start the morning off, eh?

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t experienced before but still it was a bitch to have to go through. Nevertheless, he didn’t have the time to waste with petty glaziers. He had to get on with his day. Which meant going into the heart of Gotham for supplies. It wasn’t how he wanted to spend his day, not when there were so many other things he had to get done. There was the Batmobile that needed to be repaired from Bruce’s latest fight with the city’s villains, there was the dinner that needed to be prepared, the December charities to be organized, he would also need to fix the greenhouse and there was the matter of running the weekly muggings and robberies too…

Alfred shook his head. There was a lot to do and not very much time to do it in.

Ah, but a time crunch never slowed him down before. If anything it was his time to shine – or it would have been if that damn chill in the air didn’t seize his lungs and send him coughing and hacking in a manner that betrayed his sense of style and dignity.

Dignity?

Alfred shook his head once more. He must have left it in his bedroom this morning. Speaking of leaving things, that chill in the air turned into a wicked storm and it was Alfred’s bad luck that his trusty umbrella was back in the Manor.

Alfred sighed ruefully. What a day this was turning into. As he turned down the street, trying his best to stay dry until he reached the car, he hoped that the patch jobs he made for the manor would sustain until a professional could come out. Another coughing fit ensued as Alfred made it down the block. It ran him ragged. When he did reach the car, cold and wet, he found that his car keys weren’t in his pocket.

“Damnable hell,” he groaned as he searched his pockets, ever aware of the slight pain growing right behind his eyes. The headache peaked in it’s pain as the rain grew in its intensity. It drowned out all noises – the traffic, the people hurrying to get away from the rain…why it even drowned out the threatening command of the car jacker behind him.

The young man with the gun commanded once and twice before giving up on shouting at his intended victim who he assumed was deaf at this point. Instead, he opted for a different approach. He tapped the old man on the shoulder. It did the trick.

Alfred turned around with his newly found keys and before he could even react, the younger man shot him.

The first bullet went into Alfred’s shoulder while the second one found it’s home in one of Alfred’s ribs. Then, as if being shot twice wasn’t enough, his assailant, now in possession of the car’s keys, thought better than leaving him out in the open street.

Cold, wet, and now losing an alarming amount of blood, Alfred was only vaguely aware that he was being dragged into an alleyway. The burning pain in his shoulder was exacerbated by the rough jerking tugs by his assailant. To compound his agony, his shoulder popped out of place. His arm fairly useless and prickling with pain, wouldn’t help much in doing anything whether it would be escaping from this new hell that Alfred found himself in or fixing up the manor.

Then, to add insult to injury or perhaps that the young man wanted to make a clean job of it, he was shot three more times. Two bullets pierced his abdomen. The third and final bullet, Alfred watched with horrifying realization was aimed directly at his head. Alfred hadn’t the time to even plead for his life before the trigger was pulled.

The last comprehensive thought that Alfred had was that today was a very bad day indeed.


	2. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce wakes up to news that no one ever wants to hear.

 

It was roughly three or so in the afternoon when the deafening ringing of Wayne Manor’s many phones finally woke Bruce up from his slumber. He groggily reached for the receiver, missing once or twice. When he did have it firmly in his hand, he mumbled, “Wayne Manor, this,” he yawned, “This is Bruce.”

“Hello? Mr. Wayne?” quivered a nervous voice.

Bruce held back a moan. He just said his name. How many other guys named Bruce were living at the Manor?

“This is me...,” he yawned again.

The nervous voice on the phone muttered apologies for waking him and how he knew that he was a very important person who had a very busy schedule but things being as they were, it was imperative for him to call.

Bruce, still in the haze of sleep, barely caught onto the rambling that the man on the other line was spewing. In fact, he was nearly put back to sleep when he caught on one word in the man’s long speech, “ – and you were his emergency contact, sir.”

“What?”

“Y-You were listed as his emergency contact,” the man timidly repeated.

“Who’s?” His tired mind started to click into action.

“You were the emergency contact for a Mr. Alfred Pennyworth.”

Bruce sat upright in his bed. “WHAT?”

The man on the other line whimpered, “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sir. We thought that this might have been a mistake and –“

“What’s. Wrong. With. Alfred?” he growled.

The frightened voice sputtered out the facts one by one.

  1. Alfred was shot multiple times
  2. He was left for dead in an alleyway.
  3. He was now in critical conditional.



 

It was a complete and utter blur getting to the hospital. Truth be told, Bruce didn’t remember the drive in the slightest. All he knew was that he cutting through Gotham at an unprecedented speed and soon he was on the steps of the dingy hospital where Alfred had been taken to and shouting at the nurse behind the front desk. She pointed him down the hallway in the west wing. He took off without another word. The tiny but neat nameplates on the doors passed him. Bruce ran at full speed, glancing at the names trying to find the one that he knew infancy.

  1. Gonzalez.
  2. Woodward.
  3. Nichol
  4. Pennyworth!



Bruce threw the door open and came upon a disturbing sight. The bed was empty. There was a nurse changing out the blood-stain sheets with fresh white ones. She looked at him sadly, as if she could read his mind, she said to him, “Gun shot victim. Poor fellow bled out.”

Bruce’s heart sank. He shook his head and tried to process it. Alfred, dead? No, no, no, no. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t happen. Suddenly, Bruce wasn’t the man who on a nightly basis fought the worst criminals Gotham had to offer. He was eight again and reliving the hellish night his parents were gunned down.

And now, Bruce realized, he’d lost another parent.

There were no words for the pain that consumed him. It left him numb. He wandered the halls of the hospital in a stupor. If not for the timely arrival of Jim Gordon, Bruce might as well have wandered out into traffic.

“Mr. Wayne? Is that you?”

Any other time, Bruce would have handled the situation with the social grace that he had ever so carefully cultivated over the years but not this time. Things were different.

“Commissioner Gordon? What are you doing here?”

“Mayor Hill sent me. Say what you will about the man but he has a sixth sense for when police will be needed for one of Gotham’s oldest families,” he answered tensely. “I was in the lobby talking to the doctor on call. It seems like Pennyworth should be out of surgery soon.”

“He’s alive!” Bruce gasped. “Oh thank god…”

But it didn’t mean that Alfred was out of woods yet.

“Do you have any leads?” Bruce asked.

Gordon shook his head. “None. Mr. Pennyworth was alone during the time of the attack, there were no witnesses, and the hail damage from last night knocked out every security camera within four blocks.”

“So, you’ve got nothing,” he groaned.

“I didn’t say that. We’re working around the clock to find out what we can.”

“Do you have anything? Anything at all?”

“We’re working on tracking down the car.”

“So, what? Alfred was shot over a car?” He shook his head. “This was a mugging?”

It was too familiar, way too familiar for Bruce’s liking. Gordon seemed aware of the nerve he was hitting. “It seems to be that way.”

“I don’t believe that. Alfred is smarter than to put up a fight over something as petty as a car. He knows better. His life is worth more than a stupid piece of metal.”

“We’re aware of this, Mr. Wayne,” Gordon calmly stated. “We’re doing everything that we can. Now, I know that this isn’t the best time but we need all the information that we can get. Does Mr. Pennyworth have any enemies?”

 “What? No! Alfred doesn’t have enemies. He’s a quiet man.”

“Are you sure?” Gordon pressed. “I don’t know how close you are with you employees but-”

“Alfred is more than an employee, he’s part of my family or what’s left of it anyways. He’s a good person. He didn’t deserve this.”

“No one does. I’m sorry to bring up these questions but it’s important. We have to-“

“No, I understand, you’re just doing your job.”


	3. Chapter 3

Where it was Gordon’s job to investigate violent crimes, it was Batman’s job to bring violent criminals to justice. Bruce despised leaving the hospital and Alfred who was still in surgery. It wasn’t an easy decision by any means. Waiting was never his forte and hospitals were a den of anxiety for him. What good was waiting in a hospital when he could be out doing something useful? Like apprehending Alfred’s murd- no. No. It wasn’t a murder.  

Alfred was still alive. He was still alive.

Bruce steeled himself as he returned back to the manor. He could do this. He had done this a million times. Get the suit, get into the car, do some detective work and bring the son of a bitch who dared to hurt Al. It was easy. It was simple. It was something he knew how to do and yet, when he entered Wayne Manor, it felt cold and empty.

Granted, that Wayne Manor by it’s very nature was large and lonely ever since his parents died. With Alfred, it felt warmer. Now that he was gone, the manor felt like a tomb. Shaking off the dread, Bruce got to work. He wasn’t taking any chances. He was going to get re-

He had to stop him. He wasn’t getting revenge. This wasn’t revenge. He didn’t do revenge this was…Bruce didn’t know what this was to be honest. Revenge sounded nice, he wasn’t going to lie. But revenge wasn’t something that he condoned, or that his parents would approve of, or that Alfred would ever want him to do but on the same line of thought, neither Alfred nor his parents would ever approve of Alfred getting shot. That was just a fact.

So maybe, finding the man who hurt Alfred and putting that son of a bitch in the hospital was a little bit on the verge of revenge but really, if he were to fall a couple of times on his face or went through a window…maybe  break a limb or two in the process of being brought in? Well, things like that just happened, didn’t they?

It wasn’t revenge. But if the man should put up a fight then Bruce was entitled to defend himself. That’s how he saw it and that’s how it was going to be.

 

While the city’s security cameras were left in a sorry condition, Batman’s private surveillance were left relatively unharmed by the severe storm. What footage he could track was blurry but soon, he caught sight of the sleek car. It was heading for a chop shop. Not surprising in Batman’s opinion. The car was too hot to be driven in the open. It would be sold for parts as soon as it would reach the shop and then it would be gone forever as well as the criminal who stole it.

He couldn’t wait for the parts to resurface. He had to act now. All he had was a blurry photo of the man who shot Alfred. It wasn’t the best evidence he ever had but it was better than nothing. He would go to every shop in the city to find the man.

And he nearly did. It took 15 stops, 2 beatings, and 1 very intense interrogation but he finally got the name of the man who brought in the car.

It was one Joe Fitzgerald. A long time crook, long time car thief, long time scum bag. If there was a quick buck to be made, Joe Fitzgerald would be in the mess of it. It did strike Bruce odd that Joe escalated to murder like he did but simply thinking of Alfred shot not once but multiple times, was enough to make him not care about the motive.

He just wanted Joe dead.

Joe’s cohorts, sensing his foul mood, gave him up easily. It seemed that no one wanted to defend the man.

“We swear! We didn’t know that he was involved! He’s at Smithy’s house! Corner of West and 3rd!”


	4. Chapter 4

The house at the corner of West and 3rd was a notorious drug den. It seemed that no matter how many times Gordon managed to shut it down and clear out the addicts, they would pop up like daisies in a day or two. Any other time, Bruce would have pondered the persistent drug problem that plagued Gotham but he was here for one reason and one reason only: To get the man who shot Al and bring him to justice…and maybe hurt him a little bit. Just a little bit.

The inhabitants of the drug den didn’t seem to care about him entering their sacred place. Perhaps it was because they were out of their minds or maybe seeing Batman was becoming commonplace for Gotham’s citizens. Yet another issue he would ponder later, Bruce kept his mind on the person that brought him to this hellhole: Joe Fitzgerald.

There was one person that appeared to be somewhat lucid in the house. When Bruce approached the man who was laying on the floor, the dazed man gave him a weak smile.

“You’re Batman, ain’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I…I guess…guess you’re here to hurt someone, right?”

“Only one. Then I will be on my way.”

“Oh…that’s awful nice of you,” he smiled.

“Do you know where Joe Fitzgerald is?”

The man laughed. “And you…you’re the…you’re the greatest detective…that’s what they always say, right? Joey’s right here!” he pointed to the man lying down next to him. The man gave his friend a shake to rouse him without success. Bruce knelt down to the man and checked his pulse.

Joe Fitzgerald was dead and had been for some time.

His friend looked sadly on and patted Bruce on the back.

“That’s a rough blow, man. I’m sorry.”

The had no idea how sorry Bruce was.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yes…yes…Yes! Mayor Hill, I understand who Bruce Wayne is and how much he does for this city but as it is we are currently without a lead," shouted Gordon into the phone, "Yes, I hear you very loud and very clear, sir. No, I don’t have an update on Mr. Pennyworth. Why? Because I was out doing my job! You wanted me personally to look for leads and that was what I was doing! The last I heard was that Pennyworth was out of surgery….no he’s not awake! The man took six shots! What did you expect that he was going to be able to give a full description on who shot him in less than twenty-four hours? I’ve had trained officers, some of the best men in the entire force who get shot once and don’t make it out of the O.R.! We’ll be lucky if Pennyworth pulls through! AND ANOTHER THING HILL I –“

Gordon stopped his rant midway once he felt a cold breeze pass him by. Behind him, was Batman.

“I have to go, Mayor Hill. Duty calls.” Gordon hung up the phone and gave Batman his full attention. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking into a series of carjackings.”

“Bit small time for you, isn’t it?”

“Not when it’s escalated to shootings. I believe that a Mr. Alfred Pennyworth is the most recent victim?”

“He was shot but we haven’t found the car yet. Not that Mr. Wayne cares too much but Mayor Hill cares far too much. He’s been calling every hour looking for an update and Mr. Wayne…” Gordon shook his head. “You never saw a man so terrified. Poor Al. I never thought he would go down this way.”

  “You know him?” he asked, hiding his surprise.

“We’re…” Gordon searched for the right word, “…friends.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we met twenty years ago and at the station. We…” Gordon sighed and ran a hand through his snow white hair, “It was rocky. What do you about the Wayne family?”

“That there’s not much of a family anymore.”

“Twenty years ago, before your time, Martha and Thomas Wayne had just left the opera with their son, Bruce. They cut into an alley way and…” Gordon could still see the bodies, “Martha and Thomas Wayne were robbed and murdered in cold blood. Their son, Bruce, was left unscathed but traumatized.”

Bruce remained silent. He didn’t need Gordon to tell him that he was traumatized.

“I was one of the first officers on the scene –just a rookie. I went into the alley and scooped up Bruce. I didn’t want him to see his parents like that but Bruce? He was already gone. The poor kid.”

“You did your best.” Bruce consoled.

“Doesn’t feel like it. When I got him to the station house, he was a wreck – just bawling his eyes out. He had worked himself up into a frenzy. All kids do it when they’re really upset. Bruce kept on crying. And then Alfred showed up. The kid never looked happier. Course, then I kind of messed it up.”

“What do you mean?”

“With crimes like that, time is of the essence. The Thomas and Martha were high profile people. People like that tended to make enemies. Once I saw the way Bruce latched onto him, I started to think that maybe the Waynes murders weren’t just random. It’s the old saying, you know? The butler did it?”

He exhaled softly. “You didn’t…”

“It wasn’t my best moment. I still think about it…when I, I accused him of having the Waynes murdered. He got a funny look in his eye and then…well, Alfred nearly put me through the wall. The only reason why he stopped and I know this for a fact was cause Bruce was scared from being alone. The second he heard Bruce say his name, he stopped dead cold. He put me down, dusted me off too to boot, and just left. After that, I don’t know, we became close. I was worried about Bruce and he was protective of the kid. He looked after him like he was his own son. An event like that…two people can’t help but become close. Batman, tell me you’ve got something solid. I need good news for Bruce and Alfred. I owe it to them to be able to give them some kind of closure.”

“The man who shot Mr. Pennyworth is dead. Drug overdose. His name was Joe Fitzgerald.”

“Damn. It was random?”

“It appears so. It was a crime of opportunity.”

“Dear god…poor Al.”  


	5. Chapter 5

The hospital room where Alfred was kept was dark. Doctors and nurses came and went as they monitored his condition. Truth be told, no one had expected to survive through the night. His wounds were severe. Between the blood loss and the cold that he suffered from, death was likely. Gotham City was a violent place to live. There were shootings every day. Alfred was just another person bleeding out in the hospital. There were other cases that needed to be attended to. Had it not been for one eagle-eyed nurse recognizing Alfred, the doctors would not have made a tenth of the effort that they did to save him.

In the room, hooked up to every machine, it was the beeping of his heart monitor that woke Alfred up.

His eyes weakly fluttered open. Alfred’s mind struggled to gain his recollections. There was the rain, the cold, and….oh dear, what else? What else was there? The car keys…yes, he didn’t have his car keys and, oh, someone tapped him on his shoulder and then….it was all gone.

His memories were, for lack of a better word, shot.

Everything was fuzzy and vague. Memories shifted constantly in his mind. There was very little that he was sure of but he did know for a fact that there was someone else in his room.

“Will you stop….lurking…in the shadows,” he gasped. “…and sit…down?”

The black clad figure looked almost bashful but he did what he was told. Bruce took the vacant seat next to Alfred’s side. The air was thick with tension.

“How are you…feeling?” Alfred rasped.

His brave façade crumbled. Bruce removed his cowl and asked, “You’re the one who got shot, Al. And you’re worried about me?”

“You…will always…be…my first…priority.”

Bruce was stunned. He wasn’t an emotional person, but those seven little words just about broke him. “You should get some rest, Al.”

“Will you…be…alright?”

“I’ll be fine, I swear.” Bruce smiled. It wasn’t a lie. He would be fine but things were going to change around the house. There was no way in hell that Bruce was going to lose another family member.

 

If Alfred was being honest with himself, he should have seen it all coming. It all being Bruce’s paranoia. The man was never good with change and getting shot was a major upheaval for him. Bruce stayed close to home after what was dubbed “the accident”. He scarcely left Alfred alone. It was nice to see Bruce out of uniform and to spend time with him but Gotham needed him dearly.

In the week that he took off, the Joker robbed three banks.

Scarecrow was sighted in the ports.

The Penguin held an entire opera house hostage had an aria was interrupted.

“Bruce, we need to have a talk.”

The man who had single-handedly stopped crime wave after crime wave look up and said, “Gordon and the police can handle it.”

“Uh-huh, just like they handled Poison Ivy last week?”

At that Bruce did have the grace to look slightly ashamed. “She was smart this time. They’re not always going to have easy villains to catch.”

“No,” Alfred admitted. “But they’ve always had Batman to help them out.”

“Maybe they won’t. I’m only human, Alfred. Can’t be there for every crime.”

He frowned. “That didn’t stop you before.”

“Al…”

“Bruce,” he spoke, using a tone that was reserved for the harshest of scoldings. “I will not live forever. One day, maybe tomorrow or years from now, my heart will cease to beat. I will die. When that happens, I do not want you to grieve as you do for your parents.”

“Alfred, you’re my father. You raised me, took care of me, and you taught me everything I know. I can’t…I can’t lose you too.”

“You can’t keep me forever. Bruce, nothing would give me greater joy than to see you happy. Hiding in the manor, keeping watch over me like a nanny cannot possibly make you happy.”

“No…” Bruce reluctantly answered.

But it did ease his anxiety which was more important than his happiness. Ah, but Alfred hadn’t gotten this far in life without knowing how to maneuver through delicate situations. “I will make you a deal. I will keep in contact with you all through the night while you’re out galivanting as Batman.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, but I do it because I love you. Because you’re my son.”


End file.
